Things we do for Love
by StillAMinx
Summary: How will Felipe punish Eric for trying to save Sookie from the fairies? Will he have to "live on in" her? A brief trip into the twisty world of vampires, told from Eric's point of view. Companion piece to "A Lover and a Fighter," set post DAG.
1. The King and I

_Author's note: This piece is a companion to "A Lover and a Fighter"_.

_I've tried to make it stand alone, but if you find yourself wanting more background, click on my name above to read my previous fics._

_Events occur prior to my other Eric's POV piece, "Her other lover."  
_

* * *

I once told Sookie I would be her friend for as long as I could do so without jeopardizing my own life.

I lied.

* * *

The short, pompous man drones on and on in front of me.

"...the most challenging part of my role as your monarch. Our revered Kingdom would not survive," he pauses dramatically, turning to stare at me, "were such stark disobedience allowed to go unpunished. Loyal subjects, it is of grave importance that we all..."

There is no need for me to fake boredom listening to Felipe's speech. He is pontificating about the perfect match between my punishment and my crime, but I find it hard to care. He has to make it sound as though he is in control of this situation, because he is not - and the assembled crowd knows it. He cannot send me to my final death, legally or otherwise, as my bonded will be inherited by Pam and indentured to Stan and Russell if he does, so he will never gain access to her to complete his latest scheme. He also cannot enact his preferred punishment of me, because the sham trial he organized turned a tad too real for his liking.

When Mr. Cataliades produced the decree the King sent to me some months ago to try to take my bonded - stolen from his own safe by a spy loyal to her rather than me, ironically - he was forced to admit she was under his protection when she was taken, so the fairies' kidnap of her was technically an act of war. My charges were immediately downgraded from treason to disobedience, because he could no longer argue I was trying to start a war once it was established I acted in response to an attack on his Kingdom. It was a sublime moment when he was forced to admit he ordered me not to go to her so he could go himself, because he would otherwise have been seen to have tolerated the theft of one of his Kingdom's assets.

He has been outplayed tonight, but the reminder that his intellect does not match his ruthlessness only serves to make him more cruel.

"...in skilled hands, it is as accurate as the tiny scalpels humans prefer," he tells the crowd, waving his favorite sword around in a way that only impresses those too young to know better, "and yet it has a flair modern surgical instruments lack. With this very sword, I have..."

Looking around the King's theater, the crowd is as bored as I am. They came because he promised a spectacle, a punishment not seen on this continent for over a century. But the Silver Heart is only used on those who commit high treason at the behest of a lover, and when my charges were downgraded, so was all interest in this show. We vampires are literal when it comes to extracting our pound of flesh, but not all pounds of flesh are equal. While my heart would have grown back in a matter of months - once the beautifully polished silver replica on the table beside me was removed, of course - the one in Felipe's trophy room would have ensured my obedience. Even when we have grown another, a vampire's heart is his weakness, and not in the metaphorical sense that it is a human's weakness. Felipe would have needed but a toothpick to send me to my final death, wherever I was, at any moment he chose, had he succeeded. But he didn't.

Left with a punishment even the youngsters in this crowd have seen a dozen times before, he must rely on showmanship and brutality to win back their interest. He keeps sneaking looks at me from the corner of his eye, to see if I am suitable cowed. I am not.

I do not fear pain. Unbeknown to my accuser, he can do little that was not already done me by my Maker. In his own mind, Felipe is one of the world's great sadists, a figure on par with the Marquis de Sade himself. But those cruelties are extreme only to the modern eye; the Romans made sport of cruelty in a way that surpasses all who have come since. Or so it always seemed at the hands of Ocella. When I compare the creature in front of me to my Maker, I am almost tempted to laugh aloud that he thinks he can hurt me.

"...have little doubt of the deterrent value of a well-conceived punishment. To separate the offender from what they hold most dear is a lesson they..."

_What I hold most dear?_ I quirk an eyebrow ever-so-slightly and the crowd roars in laughter. Felipe assumes they are on his side now and becomes all the more grandiose. I miss Sophie-Anne. I miss the fairness and creativity of her punishments. I think of Waldo, kept in salt water for years to rob him of the looks that allowed him to seduce one she had claimed. I miss her subtlety. She had no need of long speeches, she simply counseled disobedient subjects next to Waldo's tank. This posturing dictator is unworthy to follow one such as her.

When Felipe finally advances on me with his sword, I remind myself that I have won here tonight, even if I must endure the most painful punishment he can think to mete out. I have kept both my heart and the one who holds it, while this royal pretender gets only some flesh I will soon re-grow.

He makes his way across the stage slowly, dramatically, ready to collect his prizes. But like so many self-professed sadists, it is the reaction he craves far more than the violence itself. He is not excited by the body's inner structures and the methods of exposing them as my Maker was; he cares only for the screams of agony and look of despair induced by his actions. He is mundane, commonplace even.

A hush falls over the crowd as they wait for him to strike.

He rushes toward me suddenly, likely thinking he can shock me into crying out by cutting me before I steel myself for it. His blade hits me hard, rending sensitive flesh, but I give him no satisfaction. I am silent, still. My strength surprises even me; it is as though the pain washes straight through me, barely acknowledged. The crowd screams for more and he obliges them, courting their admiration with his savagery. He takes liberties with my body, trying both to entertain the crowd and establish his dominance over me. To my benefit, their bloodthirsty roars excite him, making him move more quickly than he ought. He hacks at my body clumsily, utterly lacking finesse. I feel nothing but contempt for him, a man who thinks he excels at an art he barely begins to know, a man who prides himself on work that is, objectively speaking, messy and inept.

It takes effort to remain impassive as his sword strikes me - I could readily take it and behead him before he realized it was gone from his grip - but I do as I must. I grit my teeth and make my body rigid, just as my Maker taught me. Pain cannot force reaction from me.

In but a few slices, the sentence is carried out. He can do no more to me; I have been judged and punished. My silence and bland expression have robbed him of any pleasure in this task, and I know I have won once more. I give him the slightest smirk, determined to show him he has not defeated me and never will.

In fury, he jerks the sword over his shoulder and lurches it up and over, aiming to add an arm to the pile of flesh on the ground in front of me. This was not authorized; the Pythoness granted him only organs, not limbs. He is slow for one of our kind, telegraphing the move so I have time to react. Entirely by instinct, my hands clap together around the blade, stopping it before it reaches its mark.

The restraints supposed to hold me to the wall are a trifling inconvenience, barely slowing my movement. I had a substantial meal of my bonded's blood before I came here, and with her fairy magic singing through my veins, silver bothers me far less than usual. It is a shame I have to show the effects of her blood once more - the way it strengthens me without extracting the usual price of insanity - but the benefits of keeping my arm outweigh the added danger I have put her in by showing my strength.

As his sword stops unexpectedly in midair, Felipe lose his grip on the handle so I am left standing there, naked and bloodied, holding his favorite sword by the blade. It has bent a few degrees where I caught it.

"I don't recall being charged with theft," I tell him coolly, my steady voice the only sound in the now-silent theater.

We vampires are very literal in claiming our pound of flesh, and an arm is taken only from thieves. Fingers for small thefts, a hand for medium ones, from the elbow for a large theft and from the shoulder down for exceptional cases. I have never stolen from Felipe; I do not owe him my arm. I am within my rights to stop him taking it, and he knows it.

"I slipped," he lies. "And you have damaged my sword."

I shrug, still holding it between the palms of my hands. "I will pay for it, just as I paid for your building."

"No, you will not," the Pythoness interrupts. "He attempted to increase your sentence beyond what is justified. His sword is forfeit."

The crowd gasps. I will walk away tonight with my life, my bonded, my heart, and now Felipe's favorite sword as well. It is a significant prize, and it will be hard for him to pretend otherwise when he has just boasted to the crowd how many enemies and traitors met their fate at its blade. There is no finer metaphor for the way he is weakening his Kingdom with this ridiculous war of egos. I miss Sophie-Anne once more; she was wise enough to see I had the means but not the ambition to overthrow her; that allowing me freedom to run the Area of my choice as I saw fit would keep me loyal to her; that treating me as an almost-equal would make me treat her as my Queen.

Felipe shuffles off stage, lacking the arrogant flourish with which he mounted it hours before.

The attendants release the silver bonds still shackling my feet and neck, and the crowd murmurs when they see how little my skin has been burnt by them (or more accurately, how quickly it has regenerated) with the help of my bonded's blood. I step over the pile of recently-removed flesh in front of me and take Felipe's sword with me as I leave the theater. The loss of blood and tissue has not weakened me yet, but I know I must go quickly if I am to walk away looking strong.

The cleaning crew is already taking to the stage, including the man I have bribed to ensure no part of me ends up in Felipe's trophy room.

* * *

In the antechamber we retire to, Pam fusses over my wounds. I am surprised by how little they hurt and how strong I feel, in spite of my recent injuries. My bonded's blood has helped me far more than I expected.

An improbable idea crosses my mind, a thought that it may be more than her blood that strengthens me. I simultaneously dismiss the idea - she is too far away - and check the state of our bond. Sure enough, my pain is being pulled away through it, strength flowing back in return. I am momentarily stunned, but then another feeling overwhelms me, something I do not immediately recognize. I finally identify it from my human life; I am not sure I have felt it since.

_Hneykja_.

Shame, I translate. I am ashamed. My bonded has taken the pain of my punishment, somehow pulling it through our bond to herself so I may appear strong. How it is possible, I am not sure; the distance should protect her from feeling this, but it somehow has not. Her power has grown beyond my expectations, and I have just taken her strength to help myself.

With some effort, I close my link to her. The bond is not broken, but it may as well be now; she will feel no more from me until I am healed. I will not let her suffer any more in my place.

I sag as the pain of my injuries finally hits me, along with the realization of what Felipe has done. He will keep me from my bonded for some time; she cannot be allowed to see me like this. I will be able to hide the healing injuries well enough from others, but she is perceptive and would likely realize something was different, even through clothing. I will give her no chance to see me as weak, to pity me once more.

When I begin to lose my footing, Pam is with me in an instant, helping me to a chair. The room spins for an indeterminate time.

"Feed," my Childe tells me. I open my eyes and a painfully engorged breast is right in front of me, blood already on the nipple. I latch onto it gratefully, feeding deeply on the girl's sweet-tasting blood.

My Childe's cell phone vibrates, and before I can disengage my mouth to tell her to ignore it, she has answered it.

"Pam, it's Bill," I hear faintly from her phone.

"Speak," she orders.

"It's Sookie. She felt something through the bond. She said Eric was in terrible pain, and now she can't feel him at all."

"He will heal," she tells him, sounding studiously bored, as though there is nothing wrong. There is no need for Bill to know there is, although he will surely hear what has happened, sooner or later. I know it will amuse him greatly, what Felipe has taken from me.

She turns to me. "Eric, it's Bill. Sookie felt everything, and now she can't feel you through the bond."

I pull away from the girl's breast, noticing for the first time that she is not human. Felipe has sent me a Zurzub. I puzzle over that momentarily; I have not seen one in the New World before, and even if I had, someone as lowly as me would never be permitted to feed on one. Pam taps her foot impatiently, hating to wait even a second for an answer.

"I have closed my end so she does not feel this," I explain, sounding strong no longer. "Ask if she is OK?"

"He has closed the bond," she relays economically. "He wants to know how she is."

I smile slightly; my Childe is efficient to a fault. I taught her well.

"She seems to be OK," comes the muffled answer. "Quinn said she fainted, but she was screaming. She was so loud I heard her from my place."

"You're such a hero Bill, hanging 'round her house every night." Her voice drips with sarcasm.

We both know he has enmeshed himself in some new plot regarding my bonded; were it not for her delicate sensibilities, I would dispatch him for disloyalty right now, even though I have yet to uncover the details. He is one more vampire whose loyalty is to her and not me, and that troubles me. He does not trust me to protect her, and unlike the weretiger I hired to guard her in my absence, or Pam's Childe who is there to keep watch, Bill thinks nothing of withholding information I may need to keep her safe, so he can feel like he is her confidante.

"Tell him to fuck off and leave us alone," I spit out, angry that it is him there with her and not me.

He who dishonored and mistreated her while she was his. He who forced himself upon her when she wanted him no longer, almost draining her as he did. He who professes to love her, but is betraying her again regardless. I wish once more that she would let me kill him.

"Eric asked me to pass on a message: fuck off and leave us alone."

"Goodbye, Pam." Comes his abrupt answer.

I fall on the girl's other breast, drinking deeply to start healing my wounds.


	2. Profits

As I stride through the bar, the usual murmur runs through the crowd. The tourists wonder who I am, how old I am, how many people I have killed. The truly stupid ones ask one another if I am a vampire, and I cannot stifle a sneer. What other creature would dare strut through a vampire bar looking this predatory?

I figure Niall would... and the tiger's boss, or 'senior partner' as he likes to be called in this realm... any of the other demon overlords, too... maenads... a few very arrogant witches... every turned fairy who has not yet found a way to die... the handful of Gods that still live... many of the more powerful species of fae... quite a few creatures, really. Of course, these idiots consider every one of them to be myth, so the only creature they know that hunts in a vampire bar is a vampire. I marvel that beings too stupid to deduce what I am are able to live at all. _Humans_, I roll my eyes.

My disdainful glance falls on a random black-clad blood bag and she flutters with excitement. At least our regulars are trying to remove themselves from the gene pool, which makes them marginally tolerable. I have always had a certain regard for those smart enough to know they are stupid. _Like my bonded_, I think, and an involuntary smile curls the corner of my lip. That just encourages our pathetic patrons, and their inane conversation gets even louder around me. My feeding habits are the topic of discussion, the timid wondering who I will leave bruised and bloodied tonight, the bold asserting it will be them.

It is three nights after my trial and I am in enough pain to be irritable and impatient, but it is important I be seen here tonight. When I am gone for any length of time, the bar's profits drop because the morons my bonded calls my Fang-banger Fan Club stop coming in. They are essential to the business's success, despite being stupid and faintly revolting. They come in every night and buy overpriced drinks for hours, contributing healthily to our balance sheet, plus they give blood to the vampires, who in turn attract the tourists. Most tourists do not allow vampires to feed on them, so it would be much harder to get all the local vampires to visit without the fang-bangers offering them blood here. Additionally, a typical tourist visits us just once, so even though they spend freely while they are here, during the seasonal lulls it is the fang-bangers who keep us open.

I scan the bar, looking for someone worth feeding on tonight. I have come in late to make this grand entrance, so the selection is as good now as it will be all night... but as usual, nobody piques my interest. But I must eat for my injuries to heal, so one of these blood bags will have to do. I will have to feed copiously for weeks to restore my full strength, and in truth, that thought does not please me as it once did.

I rue the day those witches cursed me, taking away my greatest pleasure by sending me to the one who would spoil my taste for all others. I do my best to hide the lasting disability their curse has caused, but in my darker moments - most often while my fangs are in the thigh of some uninspiring woman - I contemplate monogamy. I shake my head at the thought, knowing my bonded would never cater to most of my appetites with her prudish Christian upbringing. Even the most debauched fang-bangers find some of my tastes too extreme, and they pride themselves on doing things that disgust other humans. I hope once more that this lingering curse will wear off, so I may feed and fuck with the pleasure I ought, once more.

I head back to my office, ready to catch up on some work now I have shown I am back. Pam can select my dinner again tonight; I do not hunger for any of these dull creatures.

When I open my laptop, almost four hundred emails greet me. I have been gone a full week, and it will take me two or more nights just to catch up on these blunt electronic missives, leaving me little time for anything else. I hunger for news of my bonded, so I read the emails from James, Bill and Quinn first, even though Pam has already relayed everything important from them.

I quickly realize that James is an appallingly poor spy. He reports to me each day as ordered, but tells me mostly about her house, as though he really is there to fix things. The end of each email says, "Sookie is fine" or "Sookie's training goes well" or "Please call Sookie, she is upset about what Bill told her", but that is the full extent of his intelligence gathering. I am unimpressed. I dial his cell phone number.

"James," I bark when he answers, "you are a terrible spy."

"Hello to you too, Granddad. I guess I'll go take this somewhere private." He is as cheeky as his Maker, my Childe Pam.

For a few seconds, air rushes past the mouthpiece of his phone erratically, telling me he is running into my bonded's forest, dodging trees as he goes. I briefly think of torturing some manners into him, but remembering how that turned out with Pam gives me pause. I lack my own Maker's flair for such things, and a half-hearted effort is worse than no effort at all, I have found. All I ever managed to do was excite my Childe, and since I find it hard to resist a woman who is bloodied and aroused, disciplining her always resulted in sex. Her manners did not improve; in fact, she became more provocative with every punishment, earning even sterner discipline. Fond memories indeed.

"Your reports are terrible," I tell James the moment he stops running, getting back to the task at hand. "You think you are a contractor."

"I am a contractor," he tells me, "I'm good at building things, it's what I do."

"Pam assured me you are skilled at information gathering. She told me you always found out things nobody else did."

"That's true, but I don't tattle about every little thing like your other spy does. I earn people's trust and they talk to me, because most of the time I keep their secrets. If I hear something that effects Sookie's safety, I will call you. Otherwise, I'm here to fix her house, nothing more. You already get daily emails telling you Sookie sneezed and Quinn's hand brushed hers as he handed her a tissue, so I don't see the point of gumming up your inbox with more of that bullshit. Besides, she's smart enough to spot a spy. I like her and I'll do what I can to keep her safe, including calling you if she's in danger. I've told her as much and she's fine with me being here, even talks to me freely."

"So you are not completely ineffectual."

"No, Eric, I'm not. I passed things on to Pam maybe four times a year when I worked for her, and they were all worthwhile. I won't bother you with trivia; it's a waste of both our time and you have plenty of others to do that for you. If I call you or Pam, it will be important. But if I don't, Sookie is OK."

"Fine." I snap the phone closed, satisfied. Like my Childe, he is useful and intelligent enough that I tolerate his sometime disobedience.

I check the daily emails from Bill, and sure enough, one mentions that Sookie sneezed and Quinn's hand brushed hers as he handed her a tissue. I snicker then, amused not only that Bill reports such trivia to me, but also that James knows exactly what trivia he is reporting. I have gone from annoyed to intrigued, wondering exactly how James came to know this. He is clearly a better spy than I supposed, even though he took the role somewhat unwillingly – unlike Bill, who volunteered to report her every move to me, so he can also report to someone else.

Then I move on to the daily emails from Quinn. He is also ineffectual, blathering on about her lessons as though he is truly there to train her. I only agreed to his fool's errand to give him a good cover story so she would let him stay there and guard her in my absence. I was pleased when he changed the first few lessons to teach her to teleport away when she is in danger; that would actually keep her alive. Training her to fight is pointless though; she is slow, weak and easily damaged. Even a Were could kill her before she has time to react. Still, she is perceptive and stubborn and he is not known for stupidity (or he would not be guarding her), so perhaps he has been forced to make this charade realistic, in order that she let him stay. Or perhaps he was serious about this ridiculous exercise all along.

Just as I am about to give up reading his drivel altogether, one of his emails finally shows he's doing his real job as well as his pretend one; an email he sent the morning after my trial.

**To: Eric Northman****  
From: Quinn****  
Subject: Update on Sookie's training**

**Eric,**

**Sookie's lesson yesterday went well and her teleporting is going to be very useful next time she's in trouble. She's learning quickly and improvises like a pro, creating openings wherever she needs them. Pam already approved the next three days' lesson outlines and I'll work through them as planned, unless Amelia teaches her something that's even more useful in a fight than her telepathy.**

_Why does he waste all of our time with this?_ I wonder, perplexed that he goes to such lengths for this pointless task. _Was he honest in his offer to train her? _I assumed he offered because he heard I was being punished and wanted to get to her while I was weakened. And yet, he approaches this training so earnestly. _Perhaps he thinks this is an indirect route back into her bed_, I laugh to myself.

**Also, as the asshole next door has no doubt already reported, I spent last night in Sookie's room. She was upset about what she felt through the bond and I couldn't sit across the hall listening to her cry and not do anything. Nothing sexual happened.**

_And it won't,_ I smirked. _Fucking amateur. _I smile briefly at my own pun, amused by his stupidity. My lover can cry on his shoulder all she wants, he is only proving what a good _friend_ he is to her. I felt no lust through the bond that evening, so his strategy is as successful as I would expect. Women aren't sexually attracted to the sentimental fops who follow them around writing poetry, those men are their friends and cuckolded husbands.

For a thousand years, women have invited me into their beds - often while their sweet, caring husbands are barely out of earshot - and it is not because I hold them when they cry. I don't. For all their talk of wanting romance, women all secretly want to bed a handsome cad who is sexual, not sensitive; a man who takes command of their bodies and gives them the fuck of their life, despite their objections that they really oughtn't. Even women as prudishly Christian as my bonded yield to me, knowing exactly what I am.

_Besides, my bonded is a proud woman. She doesn't let anyone she respects see her cry,_ I think admiringly.

**Let me know what the penalty will be for breaking our agreement that I stay out of her 'bedchamber', as you call it, and for the other night when she had that nightmare, too. I guess a gentleman's agreement only works when at least one party is actually a gentleman.**

I almost laugh at that. I briefly think of something harsh to do to him so he thinks twice about going to her at night again, but holding her in his arms with no prospect of fucking her would be a miserable experience in itself. It's almost punishment enough, really. I decide to keep my options open for now, waiting for the right chance to impose some penalty on him for breaking our agreement.

**Lastly, as I'm sure you already know, Compton is reporting Sookie's movements to someone by phone each morning. He calls them after he hears James go to ground, so I assume he's not talking to you. So far, he's put his phone in his back pocket before he went to sleep each day, so I haven't been able to retrieve it and find out who he calls. But I'll keep checking.**

**Quinn**

_Of course I know_, I think, rolling my eyes. It is my business to know. At least the animal is doing his real job of guarding her, though. He has shown initiative, finding Bill's daytime resting places and trying to retrieve his phone, but he is playing a dangerous game; it is only a matter of time until Bill picks up his scent and challenges him. Still, when they last fought, it seemed unlikely Bill would win... perhaps the tiger knows what he is doing.

**PS: Telling someone to 'get on with their life' has a very specific meaning to us breathers... as does 'fuck off and leave me alone', which I heard Pam tell Bill and I'm pretty sure Sookie 'heard' in my thoughts. She's really upset, so if you didn't mean it, you should call her. Seeing her cry for hours isn't exactly fun. **

I roll my eyes again, perplexed that Sookie minds so much that I told Bill to fuck off and leave us alone. Then I recall that she took much of the pain of my punishment, and it is unsurprising she cried for hours. To a human, my injuries would likely have been fatal, and that link with death seems to make pain all the more upsetting to them. The unwanted feeling of _hneykja_ (shame) returns and I close Quinn's email without reply, moving on to something else.

As I scan the rest of the contents of my inbox, I spot a message from Felipe and a chill runs up my spine.

**To: Eric Northman****  
From: King Felipe de Castro, monarch of Nevada, Louisiana and Arkansas****  
Subject: Wonderful news about our business venture**

**Good tidings, my loyal Sheriff,**

**You will be delighted to hear the AVL have approved our new venture, in exchange for a cut of proceeds and a telepath of their own. They found that neither your bonded nor the Queen's are regarded as human by humans who know them, so if our activities become publicly known, they will publicize that to counteract any PR problems. We are simply breeding working animals, much like humans themselves do... although I doubt many of their livestock have a market value of a million dollars each.  
**

_Fuck,_ I think. It's not wonderful news for my bonded or I, and I'm really not delighted about it - as he knew I wouldn't be. I hate him more by the day.

I was sure the AVL would forbid this, because it would harm vampires' reputation so much if we were caught breeding humans for our own purposes. I am shocked they approved it, and since I cannot simply refuse to participate in this ridiculous scheme because my King has ordered it, I must find another way to stop him. I hope I can come up with some brilliant strategy to shut this down, and soon. So far, I have failed her.

**I just received our dozenth deposit, so this will be a very profitable venture for us all. Even with fertility treatments, it will take three or four years for your bonded to produce enough merchandise to fill the existing orders. The other telepath readily ****agreed**** to do his Queen's bidding on this matter and is keen to begin, insisting he can do his part without the help of doctors to save us money.**

_How kind of him, offering to fuck her when a turkey baster could do the job just as well. Probably more enjoyably for her, too, _I think darkly.

I briefly wonder whether Felipe is stupid enough to think this will work; that he can simply mate two telepaths to breed more. My bonded is likely God-touched, and those gifts do not inherit the way other attributes do. My Maker lived in times when such gifts were more common, and often only one person per generation inherits the gift... so those million dollar babies will likely grow up to be nothing more than tasty food. Or have the gift of seduction my bonded's brother and cousin each got instead... which would give them some chance of surviving, at least.

**I will expect your telepath delivered within the month so we can begin, preferably before she is next fertile. I will even allow her to spend the gestational periods with you, subject to the conditions in my decree. I will send you the Zurzub you enjoyed so much, to ensure you are still well fed with part-fairy blood while your bonded is away, if you would like?**

_No, I wouldn't like,_ I think, grabbing the nearest object and hurling it across the room in rage. _What are the fucking AVL thinking, approving this idiotic scheme? Have they lost their minds?_

I cannot tell what angers me more: that Felipe would make me 'lend' him my bonded so she can be raped and forced to bear children for him to sell... or that he thinks a mere Zurzub can replace her. They are the best food we vampires ever managed to breed for ourselves_, _but a Zurzub is no substitute for Sookie._  
_

**I hold no grudge regarding your recent misdeeds; your punishment is adequate and I trust there will be no repeated disobedience.**

**Your King**

I think of Felipe's sword, stored safely in my home, and how much I will enjoy removing his arrogant head with it.

I forward his email to Mr. Cataliades, hoping the lawyer has found a way to get the laws against vampires breeding fairies for their own purposes enforced while there are so few fae left in this world. It is our last line of defense now the AVL have sold out my bonded, who has saved so many of our kind. I say a brief, silent prayer to Freyja that I will find a way to keep my lover from Felipe's clutches. I know that once he has her, he will find a reason not to send her back to me, so he can have access to her gift, her blood and her body whenever he wishes. I cannot allow her to meet that fate.

My Childe enters my office without knocking and looks around, to find out what I have broken this time.

"Whatever that stapler did," she deadpans, "I am sure it has learned its lesson and will not displease you again."


	3. Pleasures

_Two nights later_

I dismiss Pam, but she does not leave my office. She has taken it upon herself to nag me again – something I never tolerated from women, not even when I was human and they were harder to come by.

"But Master, you must eat," she tries to sound respectful. "You will heal too slowly if you only take that synthetic crap, and it's so good for business when you feed properly. The vermin are all chattering about who you will choose tonight. It is still this bar's greatest attraction, being pillaged by a real Viking."

She is attempting to appeal to my ego, reminding me of the reputation it took me a millennium to earn, but frankly no longer deserve.

I glance once more at the security footage she has displayed on my laptop, looking over what my bar has to offer tonight. Nothing worth biting. Typical.

"Leave me," I tell her again, uninterested in the lackluster humans.

"I have something that will bring back your appetite," she tells me, her fangs creeping out in excitement.

"What?" I ask, utterly bored. The pain of my injuries makes me irritable and impatient; I have no time for her games tonight.

She inserts a shiny disk into my laptop and a video fills the screen a moment later. More security footage. My office. I am about to tell her I am not interested and dismiss her, but she interrupts before I can.

"The good part starts a little way in," she assures me, cuing it to the moment she wants.

Suddenly my bonded fills the undersized screen, leaning against my desk facing me as I sit in the very chair I am now in. She pulls up her sleeve and offers me her wrist, which I kiss. I remember exactly what that wrist smells like, the blood so close to the surface, its intoxicating scent mixed with the delicate floral fragrance she wears. Pam turns on the sound just in time for me to hear my own voice as I tell my bonded she is wonderfully devious, and her reply that she learned from the Master. Then I am upon her, pinning her to my desk as I kiss her.

Watching my bonded, my fangs run down. My Childe is right; this is exactly what I needed to whet my appetite. Sookie.

I almost leave my office to go to her, yearning for her touch, her taste, her words... but I know she must not see me in this state. I am weak now, barely a man at all, and my bonded is consistent in her taste for strong, powerful, wealthy men. It is best to bide my time, so I do not lessen myself in her eyes. After a thousand years, I am well-versed in patience. I turn my attention back to the seven-inch Sookie that is all I currently have of my bonded.

On the screen, she squirms beneath me. From the viewpoint of the security camera hidden in the corner of my office, it looks like she is struggling, but I recall the feel of her nipples moving back and forth across my chest as she rubbed them against me. Her cries sound desperate, primeval. She knows exactly how to enflame me, this woman, and I wonder how I managed to hold back for so long. Were she on my desk right now, there would be few preliminaries before I plunged my fangs into her flesh and gulped down her blood. Even if I could stand her seeing me so weakened, it is wise for me to keep away from her while my injuries make me hunger like a mere 300 year old. I do not have my usual self-control and around her intoxicating part-fairy blood, that is dangerous.

Then her breasts are bared, and even seeing them on the tiny screen, I cannot look away. Watching her responses as I handle them roughly, my fangs ache to sink into that silken skin once more.

I stare at the video as it shows my hands moving lower, teasing her, readying her, my mouth latching onto a rosy nipple. Her head lolls back and her eyes close as she gasps in pleasure. I am transfixed. I rarely get to see her face while I pleasure her breast with my mouth, and her reaction is even more beautiful than I recalled. From now on, she will look at me while I do that, I decide. Always.

The recording shows my hands moving beneath her skirt, and I know I am removing all obstacles so that I may enter her, destroying her underwear so the scent of our coupling will circulate freely when I send her out into the club later to talk to my Childe. I love showing off this beautiful creature who is – and will forever be – mine.

Then I am impaling her, and both on the video and watching the video, I cannot look away from her face. There is always a delicious moment when my size shocks and alarms her, just before her body yields to my invasion. The sight of her enthusiastic movements is undeniably erotic, but unlike anyone else who sees this, I know exactly how it feels to be inside her, how hot and wet and tight and velvety she is, how her muscles grip and milk and tug at me.

"What did she do then?" Pam asks, reminding me that she is still here. "You never once looked at me like that. How did she astonish you like that?"

She is chagrined, I know, that one as young and inexperienced as my bonded made me react in a way she never managed in almost a century of pleasuring me.

"The way the muscles inside her move is unlike any woman I have known," I reminisce. "I suspect her anatomy is subtly different to humans'. Or that she has far superior control, perhaps."

The video has progressed to the point where I take my bonded's blood, and recalling that ambrosia in my mouth awakens my blood lust.

"Dinner?" my Childe smirks, knowing she has convinced me to eat, at last.

I nod and she leaves, knowing I don't much care which blood bag she brings me. They all taste the same to me, decayed and tainted. They all smell like their bodies have already begun to rot. They all sound as though their passions are not entirely genuine, and certainly not as deeply felt as my bonded's. They all lack the glow of magic and sunshine I now crave so desperately.

For a millennium, sex was my art and greatest pleasure, but that changed with a curse. Those witches gave me one week of true happiness, knowing it would haunt me, rendering my vampiric existence somehow incomplete. It is not just that my bonded is best, her taste and feel and sound and appearance so much more appealing than any other's, but that only she is right for me now. This unhealthy fixation on one woman leaves me unsatisfied, wanting things she will never give me, but equally needing things no other woman can.

Still, my bonded shows promise. I rewind the video further and watch her as she rubs her hair and neck against my nose, asking me if I like that she smells like fairy. Of course I do, and she knows it. Then she asks if I like that she tastes of fairy, pricking her finger on my fang and rubbing her blood onto my tongue. The tease. Finally she uses her fairy power on me, bringing me close to orgasm with a single stroke of her fingertips against my forearm. I shake my head, watching her convince me to allow other men to touch her.

I realize I was not lying when I cited fairy enchantment as my legal defense. That I did not take her with me and hand her over to Felipe for interrogation and punishment says it all, really. I would rather suffer this myself than put her in his clutches, and that alarms me. I told her I would be a friend to her as long as it does not jeopardize my own life, but jeopardize it I do. And she is worth it. That is what scares me the most.

As the video progresses, I notice that a second conversation went on that night, one I was not privy to. She and Quinn discuss something silently on the screen, something that amuses both of them. He speaks to her telepathically, and she responds with her facial expressions and an occasional mouthed word. For a moment I am filled with jealousy that he can talk to her that way, and I almost wish she could hear my thoughts, too. How much easier my life would be, if she could see the regard I hold her in, the status I convey on her by claiming her as my own.

The angle of the camera does not show me what she said to him, but when he says he loves her there is no mistaking the longing on her face, and when he offers to spend a month with her, she is plainly thrilled. Her refusal to answer when I asked her if she loves him has already told me she does, and I momentarily want to break something.

She has potential, this woman of mine.

As Pam leads in a nondescript fang-banger with artificially red hair, I shut my laptop.

"She must not find out about this," I tell my Childe, glancing down briefly at the machine.

"I will add it to the list," she demurs, but it sounds like a reproach. She has voiced her objection to the things I keep from my bonded, arguing that my human will be unhappy if she ever finds out – but telling my woman vampires' secrets will not improve her safety.

"Make sure the staff know it has been updated," I remind her.

She nods and leaves me alone with the blood bag, closing the door behind her. I know there will be an email in my inbox in two minutes' time, sent to all the staff here, simply stating that the list has been updated and linking to the file. She sends those emails often.

The girl in my office smiles at me, walking around behind my desk as though she has a right to do so. I am in pain and her weak blood will do little to help; I will have to feed on a hundred like her to heal fully. I think of my bonded's nectar, humming with life and magic, her Sky blood tasting like concentrated sunshine. Even the blood of Felipe's Zurzub girl is barely pleasant by comparison. I know this human's blood will taste of decay and impending death, even though she is barely one-quarter through her lifespan. All humans taste terrible to me now.

She sits on the corner of my desk stripping off her clothes, and I feign interest. She has nice enough breasts, the muscular waistline women of this era think is sexy, and uncomfortably sharp hipbones. Pam has brought me what she considers to be one of the more attractive blood bags tonight, I realize, likely hoping it will awaken some spark of lust in me, or blood lust at least. I suppose I ought to be thankful, but in truth, this one arouses me no more than the revolting creatures she occasionally selects to provoke me. I am remarkably equal-opportunity these days; I am consistently revulsed by them all.

I can barely call myself a vampire any more, disliking human blood as I do. It is a terrible thing for any being, to hate that which they must take to survive. I recall all the disloyal humans I punished by glamoring them to feel violently ill whenever they ate. It seemed so amusing then, watching the most primitive part of their puny brains take over as starvation overwhelmed sense, turning them back into the animals they are. I laugh to longer at their plight.

I wonder if it would be worse, if they could stomach their favorite food but no other. _To be able to eat only..._ I search for an analogy, some food I have smelled that does justice to my bonded's taste... _mango_, I finally settle on. Those perfectly ripe mangoes I smelled in India some four centuries ago, their flesh so plump and juicy, their smell so sweet and intoxicating, zinging with sunshine just as her skin does. I immediately know it is inadequate, likening her to even the most ambrosial of fruit, but it is the closest analogy I can find. Would it be worse to know there is one thing that would taste wonderful... heavenly... perfect... would slake the thirst and sate the hunger so thoroughly, if only for a while... and not be able to have it?

I decide the unfulfilled compulsion is an ideal accompaniment to self-imposed starvation, and make note of it for the next time I must punish some human.

With no further ado I grab the girl on my desk, setting her on my knees facing away from me, and push the garish hair away from her neck. She is already excited and barely flinches when my fangs plunge into her jugular violently. She moves my hands to her breasts and I oblige her with some half-hearted tweaks and pinches while she rubs herself against my thigh. Her blood fills my mouth and I swallow it down, feeling slightly better for the nourishment, but barely excited to a state of minimal blood lust by this stale, watery broth.

Dr. Ludwig told me one full serving of fairy's life blood would heal me fully, but it must be fresh. She has none to offer me though; there are few sources of fresh fairy blood left in this world, and their life blood is even harder to obtain. I think of the magic that sizzles through me when I take my bonded's blood and wonder if her life blood would be strong enough to cure me, but I push the idea from my head immediately, knowing it cannot be.

After a few mouthfuls I can stand the girl on my lap no longer and push her away, silently summoning Pam to get rid of her for me. The smell of the girl's impending death, barely fifty years away, is revolting to me. My Childe walks in a moment later, unimpressed.

_Five minutes?_ She cocks an eyebrow at me as she closes the door, speaking silently so we will not be heard outside. _You're not even trying, she barely smells of you at all._

I pull the girl back onto my lap, arrange her so she cannot press against any of my injuries, then hold her there so her scent will rub off on me. I reach for my laptop, glamouring the girl to stillness so she doesn't distract me from my work.

Pam rolls her eyes at me. _She has to smell of sex, Eric, not snuggles. You can't afford to look weak, especially now._

She is right, unfortunately. The girl holds little interest – few have since the witches' curse left me unhealthily fixated on one woman – but she must smell of me. I sigh and push the girl's legs apart, sliding fingers inside her to coat them with her juices. Then I start manipulating her in a way I know will accomplish this task quickly. With my other hand, I open my laptop to resume checking my email.

"There's something else that requires your attention," Pam informs me. "Your bonded has been here."

She says it loudly enough that anyone listening outside will hear, explaining her presence in the room. I was once known for my appetites, and most who met with me witnessed some debauchery as we talked. There was always a woman or three in my office, not so long ago.

My eyes snap up to her and I have disentangled myself from the pathetic blood bag in my lap before I realize what I am doing.

My Childe smirks at me, amused to see me so tamed by a woman. To her, my lasting disability is mere entertainment. She finds my objections to the various women she brings me for dinner – that they smell or taste or sound bad, or that their bodies are unappealing to me – hysterically funny; she has known me long enough to know the full variety of my tastes and seeing those tastes narrowed to accommodate but one woman is comical to her. I find no such amusement in this curse, which lasts even after it was broken.

"Not today," she finally adds. "You're safe for now."

She glances at the bewildered girl, and I fake a lusty smile as I pull her back onto my lap and carry on with the task of making us both smell as though we have been fucking. Pam is clearly enjoying the sight, or perhaps it is the aroma of the girl's arousal and the sounds she is making that have caused her fangs to run down. Even I am finding it moderately arousing; as far as blood bags go, this one is not so bad.

My Childe takes my laptop and finds yet more security footage. First she shows me a video of the back entrance to the club, taken during the day over a week ago. As I watch in astonishment, my bonded appears directly outside the door, looks around for a few moments, then disappears again. Pam moves the tape forward three minutes and the same thing happens a second time. Then she shows footage of the inside of the club taken fifteen minutes later. Sookie appears, looks around, then leaves. This happens many times over three consecutive afternoons: she teleports into the club, stays only a few seconds, then leaves again.

"What is she doing?" I ask, perplexed.

"I think she's teleporting," Pam answers, teasing me. She says the last word so quietly it will not be heard outside, just in case.

"I can see that," I snap. "What is her purpose?"

Pam shrugs. "I can't work that out myself, she just appears and leaves again. She doesn't stay for more than a minute or two. She doesn't look around as one would if they were spying. She doesn't steal anything, although once she mixed herself a drink and took it with her, then brought the glass back clean an hour later. I can't find a purpose for her visits. We're lucky none of the staff were here when she appeared. You should call her and ask her what she was doing. Or I will if you're still refusing to talk to her."

I glare at my Childe; we have argued twice already about whether my bonded should be allowed to know of my condition, but I am her Maker and Master, so she should not fight me. It is my will that my weakness remain secret from my bonded, because she would not lust for my body in its injured state. I will not give that woman the chance to pity me again; once was bad enough.

Pam shows me more video, this time of my office. Sookie appears, looks around and leaves. Ten minutes later, she appears, picks up the Fangtasia notepad from my desk and takes it away with her. Two minutes later, she returns and replaces it. I pick up the notebook and sniff it; sure enough, I can smell her on it, ever so faintly. I inhale deeply, filling my long-dead lungs with her vitality, and my hand moves enthusiastically, as though it were inside my bonded. The videos show her appear and leave a dozen times over three afternoons, usually after she has visited the back entrance, the bar and the hallway outside my office first. I cannot discern her intentions.

Then I realize what she would see if she teleported into my office right now. The girl on my lap is writhing; enjoying my attentions as all women do. My bonded is much like my wife when I was human, proud and aware of her own worth. I know she would make a scene, were she ever to witness me with a lesser woman. Her fury when Bill left her for another was awe-inspiring, Maker or not, and I have sworn never to dishonor her or undermine her status that way myself.

Suddenly, I want the blood bag gone as quickly as possible. I work her more forcefully and she is done a few moments later, bruised just enough to impress her friends. I withdraw my hand and wipe it on my t-shirt. My Childe cannot complain I don't smell of sex now, I smirk. I push the girl away and she stands mutely where I leave her, still obeying my command that she stay still.

"Deal with her," I order, already thinking about the business at hand. "She cannot be allowed to pop in here as she pleases," I decide, thinking aloud. "It is not always safe for her to be here. Stop her from doing this."

"What would you have me do?" my Childe asks.

"We can ward the place against teleportation, can we not?" I ask almost silently.

"Sure, Amelia can do that."

"Not her," I snap. "Find another witch. A witch who doesn't live with my pledged telepath." I am reminding her exactly what Sookie is to me, and what she will be to me.

"I will see to it," she promises, already moving the blood bag to my couch to watch some old security footage on a spare laptop. By the time the girl leaves, she will be convinced she had the full Eric Northman experience, and will tell all her friends how great it was.

I curse those witches once more, robbing me of my life's greatest pleasure, forcing me to these ridiculous lengths simply to maintain the reputation I took a millennium to earn. I miss the feeding, the fucking, and above all, the admiration I once rightly deserved for my prowess. My anger flares momentarily, that those witches took so much away from me and I got just one telepathic woman for my trouble. A telepathic woman who insists she is not, in fact, mine at all. But thinking of her provokes an unhealthy feeling in me, a softness that will certainly be the death of me; a death I sometimes think I would now welcome.

I return to my work, looking for a way to keep my bonded from Felipe, wondering what price I will pay for her safety this time.

_Fin_

* * *

_Author's note: The sequel to this piece is called "Her Other Lover." You can find it by clicking on my name above._

_These two Eric's POV pieces are an accompaniment to "A Lover and a Fighter," which you can find the same way ;) _

_The third part of the trilogy, "Love and War," is now being published.  
_


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